


they made you into a weapon and told you to find peace

by colombiche



Category: Original Work
Genre: (or do you. read to find out!), Gen, Other, Religious Themes, the girl is holy while the boy is 'monstrous' you know how it goes, these characters are technically unnamed but that doesnt make them any less special in My Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colombiche/pseuds/colombiche
Summary: A divine messenger is sent down to collect the gods latest weapon-gone-rogue. The weapon finds itself struggling to understand what the gods want from it.The divine messenger does not.





	they made you into a weapon and told you to find peace

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this isnt part of any specific larger world im creating. its just a short work i wrote at one in the morning, but frankly its better than some of the other shit ive written, so here it goes!
> 
> they dont have names. like i just havent thought abt it. i guess it goes with the theme though :-)
> 
> xoxo

The holy ground burns the soles of his feet but he does not move. He’s on the ground - fingernails digging into his knees, eyes staring out into the far horizon - when there’s a shift, a sudden spike in heat and power to the right of his battered body. A girl emerges from within the shifting vacuum, shining bright and righteous and holy. She says nothing and her silence burns his ears. He does not move.

“They sent me for you.” She says; her voice is brittle, empty, but holy. Everything about her is sacred, and the boy doesn’t dare to look, but it hurts so much. Everything burns; he wants to run and run and run, but he cannot. There’s no point. He’ll always be found. He would not be able to remain hidden for long. 

They sent her for him.

“Execution.” he says, shakily. His voice hitches slightly, as if he was surprised, as if this wasn’t expected. A creation like him would never be allowed to roam free. Violence branded across his soul and murder dripping between his hands. Unholy, undeserving, monstrous. There’s then, flashes of memories where blood spills bright red. There’s now, where the darkness coats him like a second skin. The boy can almost feel the pulsing of the hundred heartbeats long gone, all of them slick on his self and soul. 

Weapon. Trained killer. Demon. Death is the only answer.

“Unlikely,” the girl responds, “it’s not possible. Not right now.”

Of course. Death is too good for him. Of course.

“Of course.”

There’s a silence. The wind whispers to him softly, the only mercy left for a weaponised boy. It whispers to him memories of his mortal past. It reminds him of his humanity.

“I’ll be sent down under, then.” Bitterly he wonders if those up above are listening. “With the seventy seven Deaths. My body and blackened soul at their disposal.” 

Endure cruelty for an eternity. A fitting punishment.  _ Do unto him what he did unto others. _ How beautifully poetic. Those up above absolutely _ love _ beauty. Beauty that comes from obedience, and humiliation, and submission. 

Endure cruelty for an eternity. Or, at least, until he became beautiful. They do love beauty, after all.

“Those up above worship beauty.” 

He doesn’t need to look at her to know she’s at his side now, her eyes on the darkening horizon. He doesn’t need to look at her to know she knows him. 

“You would never become beautiful down under.”

The boy’s eyes snap up to look at her. The girl’s dark eyes watch him, unflinching. She is kneeling with him on the desecrated land soaked in blood. Pigtails rest on either of her shoulders, and she looks younger than he’s ever seen her before - his age, he thinks. He remembers the past versions of her - the maiden, the lady, the crone - and he remembers ribbons dripping in red and he remembers his humanity. 

“Of course.” He repeats. “A weapon will always be ugly. Inside and out.” He bares his teeth for a sharp smile in her direction; she does not flinch. “Tell me, then. Why do they send you?”

“Those up above send me as a messenger. As a divine emissary.” Cold, cool, detached. A beautifully frigid servant deity. 

(or so he’s supposed to think. he’s seen her smile, though, and the softness in her eyes and the tenderness of her lilting voice. he is not fooled, and neither is she)

“Share your message, then, messenger. What have they decreed?”

She stares at him. Cold, cool, detached. Her divinity coated in the coarseness of her mortal sins. He knows, because she told him once before. Created by those up above long ago as a weapon, she was made to serve, to be used, to always obey her orders. The girl is still repaying her sins.

Their creation was not perfect. 

“You are a weapon;” she says, imperfect, “you were created to serve as a servant, to be used as a tool, to always obey their command. Weapon, do those up above speak the truth when they declare this?”

“Yes.” he responds.

“Weapon,” she stumbles over the word, haltingly. “Weapon, you have not served, you have not let yourself be used, you have not obeyed commands. Is this the truth?”

Their creation was not perfect.

“Yes.”

“Then those above declare this: they made you into a weapon, and now tell you to find peace.”

The boy scoffs, incredulous, bitter, soul pitch black and aching.

“How is one created to wreak havoc meant to find peace, messenger of those up above?” he asks softly. “I cannot possibly turn against the nature that was built into me.”

“And yet you did, anyway.”

The boy is silent. The girl is silent. The boy knows how they want him to find peace. Obedience, humiliation, submission. Give up his humanity, let the roughness of his mortal sins cover his divinity. The girl knows this too.

“Weapon,” he whispers to the girl, whispers to her true nature buried beneath her divinity, “weapon, I will not bow down to those up above. I would rather live the next millenia without you then kneel for them.”

“Weapon,” she whispers, cupping his cheek in her hand, “weapon, they made you into a force of destruction and told you to find peace. 

“You will do so.” Her dark eyes stare into the windows of his soul.

The boy searches. He searches her face, and searches and searches and sees nothing. She is nothing but a servant, a tool, a slave. Not holy. Not sacred.

She is like him. Weighed down by her mortal sins, by blood and war and death and grief. She was once him, long ago. She succumbed to those up above. She is nothing to them.

The boy is decided.

“Messenger.” he says, pressing his forehead against hers, voice breathless and ultimately meaningless. “I will find peace with those up above.”

The girl breathes in deeply, careful. There is something in her eyes. She speaks.

“Weapon. You will be cleansed from being a mortal monster. You will be granted divinity. You will serve. You’re demonic ties will be severed. You will pay for your sins. Is this the truth?”

His dark eyes search hers. He smiles, soft, loving.

“Yes.”

The boy lies. 

She smiles, soft, loving.

(sly)

“Then those up above decree you theirs.”

The girl lies too.

**Author's Note:**

> vague/ambigious ending, yes i know. imagine what happens next to your hearts content. my general thoughts are "take down the tyrannical rule of these awful gods" but to each their own
> 
> please let me know what you thought! of the my writing style, the dialogue, my love of short paragraphs and over use of commas, hell even the idea! i will take anything you have to say!
> 
> xoxo


End file.
